Priorities
by VanillaLatte
Summary: LSF PreRevan. The team confronts their fearless leader about a serious problem on Tatooine. Borrows my semiintroduced Revan from my Kotor 2 fic, but stands alone. Rather pointless 1am oneshot.


A pointless 1am quick-fic stemming from a certain level of frustration at a certain part of Kotor 1. I borrowed my Revan from my other major fic, but this little guy can certainly stand alone.

* * *

"I'm worried."

"Why?" Mission asked. Carth winced as he looked from her to the leader-board hovering over Motta the Hutt's substantial form.

"She just… keeps… _going_. How much longer is she going to do this?"

"_And what do you call that, then?"_ Carth rolled his eyes at the now very familiar Huttese response to Lyn walking through the swoop club's door yet again._ "Winners draw the crowd, not lazy times like that. Are you sure you are up to the competition?"_

"Just set me up with a race," Carth listened to Lyn answer through gritted teeth. This was becoming unhealthy…

"_Certainly. We just need to clear up the positioning fee. All racers pay the same before each officially timed race. 100 credits." _Sure, one second the slug's berating her for barely missing the top time, and the next, he's more than happy to take more of their credits…

Carth leaned back on the bench he, Mission, and some no-name Rodian amateur were sharing. The Rodian racer on his right chuckled, presumably at the sight of Lyn's repeated, defeated entrance. Carth's eyes narrowed and he imagined the Rodian felt his surge of frustration, because the racer scooted a couple more centimeters away from the well-armed human.

Mission giggled.

"I will _pay_ the 100 credits," Lyn snarled. Carth mouthed the words along with her without even watching. This was getting old. "It's not like we haven't been over this before…" he heard her mumble. He risked a glance at their fearless leader, only to see the vein in her temple throbbing, her hands clenched at her sides.

Bastila, from her position at one of the tables facing Canderous, sighed. Carth watched her trace a lazy pattern in the layer of dust covering the table top. "Forget the temptations of anger and aggression… I'll bet you however much she's spending on all these 'official' races, that she'll be on the dark side by the end of the day," the Padawan stated.

Carth smirked, realizing that a very pessimistic part of him could see her being right about that.

"_Fine, fine. We'll have your bike brought to the starting position. Let's see what level of race we should give you. Hmm… it's time to put you up against tier three. Let's see how you do against Zoriis Bafka, the pro. The time to beat is 22:51…"_

"I know, I know, for Force's sake… the damned number is burned into my mind…" Jedi Padawan Tyril swore under her breath, turning and stalking past her assorted crewmates and out the club's door for another run before Motta had even finished his race announcement.

"Well… your friend is certainly… driven…" said the pro, Zoriis Bafka, from her favored position near the wall.

"Tell us about it," Carth replied, shaking his head.

Glutton for punishment that he was, Carth watched the viewscreen attentively, tensing as the time-to-beat rapidly approached. Lyn's run was flawless. Again. Yet somehow, she just kept _missing._

A collective groan went up throughout the club as her official time showed on the board. 22:75. _Again_. This was intolerable. And this, Carth decided, was over _right now_.

He stood and stepped cautiously toward the door, waiting for Lyn to walk through it with a renewed sense of purpose, having only grown more intense with every entrance.

Over the last four hours, she had gotten _very_ intense.

Sure enough, Lyn burst through the door, the red Jedi robes she had borrowed from Juhani blurring like a blaster bolt as she tried to push her way past him. Carth grabbed her arm and swung her around.

"Okay, sister. Time for an intervention," he said. Mission jumped to her feet and Canderous and Bastila's heads both lifted in perfect synch. Lyn rolled her eyes and tried to pull free, but Carth held fast as Canderous moved to flank her on her other side.

Carth spared a moment to wonder at how he'd ever come to expect a _Mandalorian_ to back him up…

"Republic's right," Canderous said. "We're wasting time."

Lyn pouted, her mocha skin scrunching up around her nose. And she'd said _Bastila_ looked like a Kath pup…

"I… I am _not _wasting time! I—I'm _trying_ to get Neko his racing deal, but the conceited little brat won't even give me the time of day until I'm the track champion!"

"So?" Mission asked, crossing her arms in front of her skeptically. Lyn's brow furrowed.

"Hey! Wasn't it _you_ who not… um… five hours ago… said how good it felt to do nice things for people when I bought that Wraid plate from the widow by the hunting lodge? This is good guy stuff! I thought this was what we're all about!" Lyn argued. Mission didn't budge.

"Yeah, and so's finding my brother!" the young Twi'lek shot back. "And Bastila's mom, too. Not to mention the Star Map!"

"But—"

"Ah! No 'but's'," Carth ordered. Lyn's jaw snapped shut. "Jolee and Juhani probably think we got killed by Sand People—or Bastila's mother—" Bastila glared at him with a look that could kill "—and we're kind of on a deadline here."

"But… I can _do_ this, Carth! I _have_ to! I _won_ the season opener on Taris, I can't concede defeat on a backwater, rim pit like this!" she said, a little too loudly. The Ithorian in the corner, who probably called Anchorhead home, grunted with indignation. Carth took a deep, cleansing breath.

"Well, you _did_ have that accelerator thing on Taris…"

Lyn's face lit up. "That's _it_! If I could just make a few upgrades to the bike… Neko said—"

"You might be able to find upgrades at the Czerka office?" Carth finished smugly. Lyn nodded. "Already went over there and asked. Back around your fifth try at the third tier time."

"Well… that… that's okay. I don't need any upgrades anyway. I can do this on my own… I've done lot's of harder things on my own… Just one more run. I know I can do it if I have just one more chance…"

"No," Carth answered, leaving no room for debate.

"Yes," Lyn countered. Carth dug in his heels.

"No," he repeated. This was starting to remind him of the time Dustil had tried to convince him he was old enough to ride his dad's old speederbike.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!" Carth, Mission, Bastila, and Canderous shouted together.

"But Carth…" Lyn drawled, "Just one more try…" she sidled up to him, batting those eyelashes of hers. Carth bit the inside of his cheek and he could have sworn he saw a very amused expression on Canderous' face.

Now _that_ just wasn't going to fly. He would not give _Canderous_ the satisfaction, he decided, even as Lyn whispered, "I'll make it worth your while…" into his ear. He shivered slightly, but remained firm, refusing to look at her.

"Nice try," he said, grinning, more at Canderous than at the increasingly frustrated Jedi backing away from him. The Mandalorian rolled his eyes.

Lyn glared at each one of her comrades in turn. "You are all getting Force Choked in your sleep," she stated. With a final jerk she pulled her arms out of Carth and Canderous' grips, turned swiftly on her heel, and retreated through the door and onto the streets of Anchorhead.

Mission stared after her. "Did anyone else just get a chill up their spine?" she said, a shiver running through her. Carth shook his head.

"She'll get over it," he shrugged. "Come on… let's go try and get her to channel some of that excess energy into something more productive…"

Carth held the door open as his friends filed out before him and as he turned to close the door behind them, he could have sworn he saw Zoriis Bafka slump down into a chair, sighing with relief.


End file.
